Chapter Text
It’s too early in the season for mornings to feel warm yet, the grass still covered in a fine layer of frost. The stone bench facing the altar had been frigid cold when they first sat down, and honestly hasn't warmed much in the—what, ten? Thirty?—minutes they've been there. Mika huddled up, shoulders hunched, hands tucked up inside opposite sleeves of the too-large jacket, watching their breath rise up above their head in little puffs of vapor.
Time to head home, probably, before the town starts to wake and someone finds them perching in the graveyard like some weird little gremlin. That’s definitely not the kind of first impression they’re hoping for.
But it was just so nice and peaceful, so quiet and still in the gray pre-dawn light, the crisp breeze rolling in off the sea... You just didn’t get mornings like this in Pokyo. Maybe if they do manage to stick around for a while, if they can figure out how to make this whole farm thing work, they’ll get used to mornings like this someday. But for now, it’s still a marvel, and they can’t help but want to bask in it a little longer...
“Hope it rains soon.” The voice emerges from nowhere, breaking through their reverie. “Clear up some of this moss...”
Mika turns, confused, to see a man standing a few feet away, hands on hips with a bucket hanging from one implausibly thick forearm, poking at the paving stones with the toe of his boot. “E-excuse me?”
He starts in surprise and whirls around, mouth dropping open as he takes in the sight of them—hair surely a mess, still wearing the flannel pj’s they’d worn to bed, pants tucked into mud-caked boots, one of granddad’s old jackets thrown over top. His cheeks start to flush. “Oh... Hi there...”
“...Hi.” When he doesn't do anything but continue to stare, they ask, “What was that you were saying? Something about moss?”
“Oh–! Uh.” His hair is just long enough on top to be lightly tousled, cropped even shorter on the sides, so they can see that his ears join the party as the blush deepens. “The...rain. Sometimes it washes the moss off the stones.”
Mika tilts their head to one side, considering this. “I’d imagine it just makes it worse? I mean, I dunno much about moss, but...doesn't it like water?”
“It can rain pretty hard here,” he says with a shrug, which, yeah, sure, seems fair. After a moment’s thought, he reaches into the bucket and withdraws a stiff-bristled brush with a sheepish smile. “It’s easier to scrub off afterward, anyway.”
They laugh and nod, finally understanding what this man is doing here this early in the morning—has a much better reason for it than they do, that’s for certain. “Makes sense. Are you the caretaker, then?”
“The..? Oh! Oh, n-no, that’s not...” The blush is back in full force, ludicrously charming on his scruffy, handsome face as he gestures at something behind Mika. “I’m a blacksmith—my brother and I are. We’re right next door, so we help keep the area clean.”
They turn to follow his pointing, easily spotting the house looming above the old altar, built against the cliffside, a blue batik with white hammer and tongs fluttering in the breeze. Right, okay. Blacksmith. That certainly tracks. The dude looks like he has muscle in places their body’s never even heard of.
“You’re the new farmer, aren’t you? We don’t get a lot of visitors anymore.”
“Oh! Right, yeah,” they gasp, hopping up off the stone bench and holding out a hand. “I’m Mika.”
“Rafael,” he says with a small smile, dropping the brush back into the bucket and stepping forward to shake. His hand is huge, strong and dry and warm, difficult to let go of with the way the early morning chill has managed to creep into their bones, making them want to press up against him, conserve some of that heat.
Definitely not an appropriate thought upon meeting a new neighbor.
“Are you liking it so far?” he asks, retrieving his hand but not stepping away from them. His manner so far is too gentle to come across as imposing, but still, they have to crane their neck a little to meet his eyes.
“The farming, or the island?”
“Hmm.” He shrugs. “Both, I guess?”
They take a step back, resuming their seat on the bench, trying to think how best to answer. “Well, the island is...incredible. I mean, I visited a couple times as a kid, but I figured it couldn’t really be as idyllic as I remembered, y’know? But somehow it’s like even better? Everything’s so calm and beautiful, and it’s easy to go off by myself and actually be alone—but then also everyone’s been so kind and welcoming and easy to be around... It’s nothing like Pokyo, that’s for sure.”
His face glows with a soft smile as they talk, looking as pleased as if they’d complimented him directly. Careful not to jostle the cleaning supplies inside, he rests the bucket on the ground and moves to sit beside them on the bench. “And...the farm?”
Mika blows out a long breath, trying to keep from wincing too obviously. How to explain the razor-thin tightrope they’ve been walking these past few days, trying to beat back the imposter syndrome with a stick while also ignoring the looming realization that they may have bitten off way more than they can chew? How to express the strange impulse that had dragged them out of bed before dawn to wander the empty streets in search of this solemn, sacred place? How to evoke the bone-deep weariness from all they’ve done so far to clear the land for use, though even to their own eyes it’s impossible to tell the difference every morning when they wake?
“The farm is...a lot.” It’s the best answer they can come up with.
To his credit, Rafael nods seriously, as though he understands all they’d left unsaid.
"I get that,” he says softly. “Before—before we knew you were coming, when there wasn’t anybody caring for the space—the mayor was talking about turning it into a community garden or something. I kept thinking it’d be a lot of work, even with everybody pitching in where they could. I’m sure it’s tough to do all that by yourself.”
“Well, at least it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do,” they offer with a wry smile, hoping it comes across as nonchalant rather than...pathetic.
Quitting their old job had been such a relief; the company couldn’t possibly pay them enough to ever consider going back. But those months after—the countless applications with only a handful of callbacks, the scant few fruitless in-person interviews, the email inbox full to bursting with cookie-cutter rejection letters... Well, picking up a couple new hobbies could only fill so many empty hours in the day, and craft supplies were expensive lately, especially without a new source of income rolling in.
Rafael frowns at them with a look that clearly says he isn’t buying the affect. “I guess, but– I mean...do you need help?”
They’re not sure exactly what kind of look they turn on him in their surprise, but he starts to blush again.
“Not that I think you can’t handle it or anything,” he hurries to assure. “But I would need help. And if you do– Well, I dunno if I can really do anything, my brother and I are really busy right now. But...will you tell me anyway? If you do?”
For a moment, all Mika can do is stare at him, trying to prevent their expression from revealing just how deeply the offer, and the sweetness of it, has touched them. It’s a challenge; they can’t remember the last time someone wanted to just...help them. No ulterior motives, no strings attached, just helping for helping’s sake and because it seemed like they might need it, this blacksmith who has only just met them. They could kiss him for it.
They should not be thinking about kissing him—he’s been kind and considerate, and he’s way too cute for that to be just an idle fantasy, without veering dangerously far into crush territory.
Seriously, how could everybody on this island be so hot? It’s honestly starting to feel kind of ridiculous at this point.
“Thank you,” they sigh, shaking their head of such nonsense thoughts and knotting their fingers together in their lap to suppress the urge to reach for him, just in case. “I really do appreciate it. I think... For now, I’m just trying to...take my bearings, I guess? I’m not even really sure what I’m doing yet, let alone what kind of help I might need once I figure it out. But, still, thank you all the same.”
He nods in understanding, smiling softly, his brown eyes big and dark and sweet and kind. “Sure, well, if anything comes up,” he gestures ahead, toward the white walls and blue roof of his shop, “you know where to find me.”
“I do! Yeah. Thanks, Rafael.”
“You’re welcome, Mika.”
He rests his hands on his knees and makes a move to stand—and they need to be getting home anyway, the sky brightening enough with daylight that more people than just this handsome sweet blacksmith might be awake to see them in their pj’s and less inclined to be so polite about it—but he is handsome and he has been sweet, and something in their chest doesn’t want him to go and their brain casts around for anything to keep him near, even for just a moment longer.
“Oh! Hey, actually, there is something you could maybe help with. Do you do any locksmithing? Or maybe you know someone in town who does?”
His brows draw together in thought. “Hmm, that’s not really our thing. Maybe the twins know someone? Alice and Suki, I mean—they run the inn, so I guess they probably have a guy for that sort of thing. Why, are you locked out? Wait," he gasps. “Is that why you’re out here?”
“No! No, don’t worry, it’s nothing like that!” they assure him with a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “No, sorry, I just found some weird old box while I was clearing weeds yesterday—or, not a box, really, more like a chest? It seems pretty old, and there’s something rattling around inside it, but I’ve tried every key in the house and nothing fits.”
“Oh. Huh...” He rubs the back of his neck, an adorable little pout on his lips as he makes a thoughtful face. “Well, I dunno, maybe the museum might have something more delicate... But we’ve got loads of tools in the shop; if you’re not that attached to the box itself, I’m sure we’ve got something that can pry it open.”
“Really?”
“Sure, why not?” He grins, seeming pleased at the prospect. “Yeah, I bet we can do it. You should bring it by.”
“Okay! Okay, I will. Thank you.”
“Sure thing.” He looks at them curiously, head tilting slightly to the side. “Can I ask a, uh...weird question?”
Mika shrugs. “Sure, yeah, go for it."
“It’s none of my business, but...why are you out here? In the cemetery, I mean.”
“Oh. Uh... Do you want a weird answer?”
He laughs. "Sure, yeah, go for it.”
They snort out a laugh and then turn away, embarrassed, running a hand through their hair—getting shaggy, and in need of a fresh dye job, but they've been way too preoccupied to do anything about it for awhile now. Another task to add to the ever-growing list. “I’m not, like... from here. I mean, my mother grew up here, but she always wanted to live in a city, and after she moved away for school she pretty much stayed gone. Even my grandparents didn’t come here until after they were married. I visited a few times as a kid, but mostly they came to us, so...” They trail off, toeing at the grass with their dirty boots, staring down at it like it’s the most interesting thing they’ve ever seen. “So, I guess... I dunno, I’ve been feeling like I don’t really...deserve to be doing all this, and I couldn’t sleep anyway, so I thought I’d come here and sort of...ask for permission. Or something. From the folks who did.”
When they finally work up the courage to look over at Rafael, it’s to find him frowning deeply.
“You can belong here, Mika,” he says plainly, simply. “I mean, it’s not like there’s a test you have to pass or anything. You’re here. That’s enough. That’s plenty.”
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or the jet lag finally catching up with them, or the physical exhaustion of the past few days of hard labor, or the emotional exhaustion of the past few years of burnout and dissatisfaction and job hunting and leaving behind everything they’ve ever known to take a chance out here on something they’re not remotely qualified for—or maybe it’s all of that, combined and mixed together with the words they’ve maybe always needed to hear for their whole life, spoken with such a blinding absence of any pretense or sarcasm. Whatever the cause, the tears just start rolling down their cheeks without even a moment’s warning, the blacksmith’s handsome, worried face blurring in their vision as they try desperately to wipe their eyes dry.
“Oh! Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, no, I’m sorry,” Mika blubbers, trying to wave off his apology while still trying to dry their face on their sleeves. “Shit. Sorry. Ugh... Hell of a first impression, huh? I just... It’s been a weird week. I’m not used to strangers being so kind, I guess.”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m... You should talk to my brother, Pablo. He’s a lot better with people. I’m always saying the wrong thing...”
“No, no, it was a lovely thing to say, Rafael,” they tell him, laying a hand on his arm. “Please don’t take it back.
He leans in toward them and frowns down at their hand—but before they can pull it back in mortification, he lays his own over it, the breadth of his palm wide enough to cover their fingers, the heat of his skin radiating up their whole arm to hitch somewhere deep in their chest.
“You’re so cold,” he breathes, looking up at them with wide eyes, brow drawn together with concern.
They lick their lips—nervous, flustered, unaccustomed to this much attention and this degree of interest in their wellbeing—and... And his eyes track the movement of their tongue, linger on their lips, they’re sure they’re not just imagining that...right?
“Yeah, I s-should—probably head home,” they stutter, heaving off the bench and sliding their hands free for one last futile swipe at damp cheeks before stuffing them deep into the pockets of gramps’s coat, well away from temptation and kind, beefy blacksmiths. “Farm’s not gonna till itself, right?”
"...Maybe," he says softly.
Mika blinks and frowns, knocked clear off their train of thought. "...What?"
"Uh." The blush comes rushing back, his expression taking on a distinctly deer-in-headlights kind of look. "Sorry, that was– I was just– Uh, there's this...hammer. Well, a mythical hammer. It's supposed to wield itself, makes all kinds of incredible swords and axes and...and stuff. So maybe there's... I was just thinking, maybe there's like some mythical farm tools too, or something? Sorry."
"Oh." Oh, no, he's way too cute. This is really going to be a problem, isn't it? "Well, that would be...great. If you hear of any, will you let me know?"
"Yeah," he says hurriedly, nodding quickly, blushing deeply and looking anywhere but at their face. "Sure. Will do."
"Okay... Thanks, Rafael."
Another quick nod. "Mm-hm."
They take a step away, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable than they obviously have, but... But once again, it was a sweet thing to say, even if a tiny bit silly; they hesitate a moment, not wanting to leave him feeling silly and embarrassed for being kind.
"Thanks for...the talk, too," they add, and finally manage to get his eyes on them again. "This really did make me feel better. Sorry I cried at you for it."
His mouth quirks up in a sheepish sort of smile. "That's okay, I don't mind."
"Okay, good. I'll...see you around, I guess?"
"Yeah," he says, and this smile seems genuine. "See you."